who were in the
station. His father's well-known form was not among them, but on the
other side of the palings which divided the station yard from the
platform, he saw the pony carriage, looking, as he thought, rather
shabby, and recognised his father's coachman. In a few minutes more he
was in the carriage driving towards Battersby. He could not help smiling
as he saw the coachman give a look of surprise at finding him so much
changed in personal appearance. The coachman was the more surprised
because when Ernest had last been at home he had been dressed as a
clergyman, and now he was not only a layman, but a layman who was got up
regardless of expense. The change was so great that it was not till
Ernest actually spoke to him that the coachman knew him.

"How are my father and mother?" he asked hurriedly, as he got into the
carriage. "The Master's well, sir," was the answer, "but the Missis is
very sadly." The horse knew that he was going home and pulled hard at
the reins. The weather was cold and raw--the very ideal of a November
day; in one part of the road the floods were out, and near here they had
to pass through a number of horsemen and dogs, for the hounds had met
that morning at a place near Battersby. Ernest saw several people whom
he knew, but they either, as is most likely, did not recognise him, or
did not know of his good luck. When Battersby church tower drew near,
and he saw the Rectory on the top of the hill, its chimneys just showing
above the leafless trees with which it was surrounded, he threw himself
back in the carriage and covered his face with his hands.

It came to an end, as even the worst quarters of an hour do, and in a few
minutes more he was on the steps in front of his father's house. His
father, hearing the carriage arrive, came a little way down the steps to
meet him. Like the coachman he saw at a glance that Ernest was appointed
as though money were abundant with him, and that he was looking robust
and full of health and vigour.

This was not what he had bargained for. He wanted Ernest to return, but
he was to return as any respectable, well-regulated prodigal ought to
return--abject, broken-hearted, asking forgiveness from the tenderest and
most long-suffering father in the whole world. If he should have shoes
and stockings and whole clothes at all, it should be only because
absolute rags and tatters had been graciously dispensed with, whereas
here he was swaggering i